Scenes from Concourse B in BWI

I was sitting in BWI on Sunday, after a lovely 18 hours with a dear friend who trekked south to see me, waiting for a flight (of course).

I got to the airport early. And of course the plane was delayed repeatedly due to the weather.

As everyone knows, to say I’m a frequent flier is an understatement. I’m more at-home in hotels and terminals than I am in my Palm Beach penthouse. (Although I do adore that, too.)

I was sitting by the California Tortilla, enjoying a cuppa joe from Mayorga (how I miss Maryland!), when a pilot from Southwest asked if he could borrow a corner of my table for a moment.

I said sure and we struck up a conversation. He was feeling kind of bummed because of the weather (increasingly heavy rains) and the pile of delays that were making his customers (and himself) more than just a little bit antsy.

I shared that I fly about three times a month. And that there’s no way I could do what he does out there; nor would I ever be so bold as to claim that they could do their jobs any better.

I said, look. I really appreciate how dedicated you are … how you want to get this show on the road and get your passengers to their next destination. And frankly, I don’t really care about the delays so much — I’m just glad that you get me home safely and securely.

If an extra hour or two means you have a better “drive” and you put me on the ground at home as uneventfully as possible, well then, know that I’m silently applauding you from my seat in the back of the aircraft.

He suddenly smiled — beamed, I tell you — and said, “You have just turned my whole day around. Thank you!”

I smiled and wished him safe travels. He waved and walked away.

I tell you this story not because I did anything wonderful or even out-of-the-ordinary — at least, not out-of-the-ordinary for me, anyway. I don’t pay compliments out of my ass, but I do my best to make everyone’s day easier and, if possible, a little brighter.

And I get a lot of crap for that.

In any case, at a time when evil bitchiness is permeating far too many areas of my life … at a time when I am really trying to get the hell away from it because the negativity impacts me far too much … I am reminded that I may get shit on as a “nice girl” — hell, people downright use your hair to wipe their ass, if you let them — I will have made a difference in the world when all is said and done.

I might not have made billions of dollars for my company or millions of dollars for myself and my associates, by the end of my life. But if I have done something each day to take someone to a new level, or improved their day by one little degree, then I’m OK with that.

And to hell with anyone who wants to make me feel that my identity is flawed or isn’t enough. Because I may not be able to live with anyone else, but I am quite content living with myself.

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